Chapter 2: Warm Face, Cold Heart

“No, no, Ninth Master, what I meant was…” Perhaps because of his anxiety, Han Qi's words came out jumbled.

Confronted with the restrained yet still overwhelming aura of Rong Shen, Han Qi instinctively felt timid.

The Ninth Master Rong—he had never truly been a gentle, amiable gentleman.

A man with such dazzling, refined features and eyes as cold as ice could never be as warm as jade.

He was the very picture of outward warmth and inner coldness; perhaps even… ruthless and merciless.

Rong Shen’s profound gaze landed on Han Qi. Before leaving the lounge, he left behind a single instruction: “You’ll set up her guidance and treatment schedule. And tell her, the treatment fee can be discounted appropriately.”

Knowing there was no room for argument, Han Qi could only bend and answer, “Yes, Ninth Master.”

…

Before ten o’clock, An Tong arrived at the Daily Magazine office on Nangang Road.

She worked there part-time as a proofreader and editor, paid by attendance at a daily rate of fifty yuan.

The editorial department was on the third floor, and An Tong’s desk was tucked beside the pantry—a quiet spot, but also the most easily overlooked corner.

“An Tong, there are three news articles and two magazines that need following up. I’ve sent them all to your email. They need to be submitted for review by six this afternoon. Get them to me as soon as you finish. And if you don’t finish, you can’t leave.”

The woman calling out was the deputy editor, Liu Ran, who worked with An Tong more than anyone else in the department.

Or rather, much of the work Liu Ran didn’t want to do would be handed off to the part-timer An Tong under the guise of proofreading.

By nature, An Tong rarely refused, simply nodding lightly in agreement.

Liu Ran seemed pleased with this, raising her brows and boasting to her colleagues.

“You’re taking advantage of her. Even a seasoned editor would need three days to proof all that, and she’s just a part-timer, expected to finish by six?”

“That’s what part-timers are for.” Liu Ran’s smile was stiff as she retorted, “Besides, I’ve already gone through those drafts once. She missed work the past couple days—if she can’t finish, she can just wait for the chief editor to dock her pay.”

She deliberately raised her voice for the last sentence.

Even from a distance, An Tong heard clearly.

From her seat behind the cubicle divider, An Tong glanced at Liu Ran, her expression blank and her gaze calm—a silence that made the other woman uneasy, as if she dared not meet her eyes.

Nearing noon, An Tong shut down her computer, donned her hat, and left the editorial department.

In the elevator lobby, a plain-looking girl stood on tiptoe, anxiously peering about. Spotting An Tong, she broke into a broad smile and waved, “Tong Tong!”

For once, a ripple of emotion was visible in An Tong’s usually somber and subdued features.

This was Su Qi, one of her few friends.

“I knew you’d come to the office today. Here’s lunch, with your favorite steamed pork,” Su Qi said, handing over a metal lunchbox, her eyes crinkling into crescents.

“Thank you.” An Tong accepted it, her eyes taking on a rare warmth.

“Come on, you don’t have to be polite with me.” Su Qi flicked her ponytail and muttered under her breath, “Makes me feel like a stranger.”

An Tong said nothing, carrying the lunchbox into the elevator ahead of her.

Su Qi followed, probing gently, “Tong Tong, are you really not going back to school?”

Though both now worked at the magazine, their positions were very different.

Su Qi was a senior intern, while An Tong was a dropout working part-time.

As for the reason behind her dropping out, Su Qi didn’t know. She only knew that in their sophomore year, An Tong had suddenly cut off all contact and vanished for a long time.

It wasn’t until half a year ago that they met again at the magazine.

But An Tong was changed—distant, withdrawn, like a flower withering in the bright spring, drained of all life and color.

The reason remained a mystery.

Inside the elevator, An Tong stared at the doors and replied coolly, “I don’t plan to.”

Su Qi scratched her nose awkwardly, searching for something to say. “Well, your parents must be pretty understanding. If I tried dropping out, my mom would probably kick me to the moon.”

For a fleeting moment, An Tong’s pupils widened, her gaze turning empty and unfocused.

It might have been seconds, or minutes, but when her awareness returned, she found Su Qi’s face looming close, her expression filled with obvious panic.

“T-Tong Tong, are you okay?”

An Tong pressed her brow, closing her eyes to steady herself. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Su Qi glanced at the lunchbox spilled on the floor and then at An Tong’s ashen face. “Just now, you…”

Su Qi didn’t finish, but An Tong had already realized what had happened.

Her brief lapse had caused her to drop the lunchbox, spilling food everywhere, and the elevator had stopped long ago at the basement cafeteria.

To make a scene in public inevitably draws whispers and pointed fingers.

An Tong stood there, detached, for several seconds. Only when she regained control did she silently crouch down to pick up the scattered food with her bare hands.

A minor incident, but it became fodder for gossip in the office.

In the end, An Tong didn’t go to the cafeteria. Instead, clutching the lunchbox Su Qi had given her, she quietly left the magazine.

That day, careless Su Qi couldn’t shake her unease. She sensed that something was wrong with An Tong.

…

All afternoon, An Tong did not return.

By six, Liu Ran was growing anxious, asking around for An Tong’s phone number. “Doesn’t anyone have her number? Not even her WeChat?”

Someone replied with a hint of schadenfreude, “You two work together the most. If you don’t have it, what makes you think we do?”

Irritated, Liu Ran slapped the desk, but before she could vent further, her computer pinged with a new email notification.

She glanced down to see it was from An Tong, with the three news articles and two magazines already proofread and attached.

Liu Ran’s anger vanished, along with her impulse to report to the chief editor.

But as she opened the email, she noticed a small reminder in the upper left corner: Scheduled email.

In other words, the work had been finished and the email set to send before An Tong left at noon.

She had completed in two hours what would take others three days.

With such efficiency, why settle for a part-time position at a magazine?

Elsewhere, as dusk fell, An Tong sat alone beneath a plane tree, petals drifting around her, and without hesitation dialed Rong Shen’s number.

She said, “I’m willing to accept guidance and treatment.”

Then added, “Can I get a discount?”